Riverside Reflections
by Imogen
Summary: A lazy summer afternoon by the river in Ottery St Catchpole. Harry and Ginny reflect on their relationship during the summer after 'Carpe Diem'
1. Ottery St Catchpole

Riverside Reflections

_**A short piece of nothing very much from the summer after 'Carpe Diem'. This begins as a story, but chapters two and three will be thoughts from Ginny's and Harry's perspectives.**_

_**Characters and most of the setting belong to JKR. The riverbank, fields and trees, however, are mine, and are very good friends!**_

Chapter One: Ottery St Catchpole

"_The swallow of summer, cartwheeling through crimson,_

_Touches the honey-slow river and turning_

_Returns to the hand stretched from under the eaves -_

_A boomerang of rejoicing shadow."_

Ted Hughes: "Work and Play"

It was going to be a glorious summer's day Harry Potter reflected, halfway through dressing. He leaned out of Ron's bedroom window, staring out across the Weasley's rambling and overgrown garden, towards the orchard. The lightest of breezes ruffled his hair seductively off his forehead, and he could see the leaves of the aspen tree on the hill quivering gently. Sunlight was already streaming through the sky, mere wisps of clouds idly lazing in their blue bed, too sloth-like to spoil the clearness of the day. A whistling, chirruping of the swallow above his head made him smile. It had recently made its nest under the eaves, much to the displeasure of the family ghoul, who was clanking things more noisily than ever in a fit of pique. The bird took flight again, lithe and graceful, and Harry watched her, fluttering and swooping as she cut through the sky until she became a mere speck in the distance.

The smell of summer wafted around him; a soft smell of flowers, freshly cut grass, and warmth. The perpetual downpour from the last week had vanished, and now, here with the Weasleys, it felt good to be alive.

Still smiling, he was just about to retreat back into Ron's bedroom, when a sudden movement caught his eye. It was Ginny. Propping himself up comfortably at the window he watched her in amusement. She was padding barefoot around the garden like a sleek ginger cat. Sunlight bounced impatiently off her hair as she wound her way back down towards the house, the summer breeze tugging gently at the hem of her dress, making it dance above her knees. A small squeak of surprise caused his grin to widen when she narrowly avoided standing on a gnome, and had to dodge swiftly away from his wrath, her hair rippling in a wave of sunlight down her back. Lazily she collected flowers together, darting butterfly-like between this flowerbed and that, clearly enjoying the early morning solitude. Hedwig hooted jealously from her cage.

"Shush!" Harry said to her. "I'm enjoying this."

He turned his attention back to the garden to find Ginny grinning up at him.

"Morning, Harry!" she said cheerfully. "I was wondering if you were ever going to get up." "Nice flowers," he retorted. "Very girlie."

She pulled a face at him and he laughed.

"I thought I'd surprise Mum," she said.

"Not much of a surprise now. She'd have heard you two counties away." Fred's voice interrupted sleepily from his window on the floor below. "What are you two yelling about anyway?"

"Yeah, it's bad enough having you drooling all over each other, without you waking us up at the crack of dawn as well," George moaned.

"It's nearly eight o' clock," Ginny retorted. "You're due in Diagon Alley before nine. At this rate you'll never get that shop of yours off the ground."

"And Ron's in the bathroom," Harry pointed out. "You could be cutting it a bit fine."

There was a mad scrambling in the room below, and Harry grinned down at Ginny.

"Where are my socks?" Fred could be heard yelling from inside their room. His head appeared at the window again, and he glared down at his little sister. "Ginny?"

"Not me this time," she laughed in delight, showing him her bare feet. "I can pinch some from you if you want me to, though. I wouldn't want you to feel neglected."

There was a growl of frustration and Fred disappeared again.

"Speaking of you pinching things," Harry said, struggling to hide his laughter. "You don't happen to have the white t-shirt I've been looking for this morning, do you?" He loved the way she blushed and squirmed at the question. She rubbed her foot up and down the back of her leg.

"'Fraid so," she confessed, eyes sparkling with a distinct lack of repentance. Harry laughed. He'd have forgiven her anything, especially after what had happened to her a few months before, when he'd believed Voldemort had killed her. She could steal his entire wardrobe if she wanted it.

"It's OK. I'll find something else," he teased, clambering down from the windowsill. "See you for breakfast?"

"Definitely," she said, blowing a kiss up to him, and disappearing into the house in an energetic whirl of hair, legs and laughter.

The Weasley kitchen was increasingly chaotic in the mornings now that four of the family were Apparating to work at roughly the same time. Harry wandered down to breakfast with Ron, and rapidly pinned himself against the wall as Mr Weasley charged past, robes awry, frantically searching for an important piece of parchment that he knew he'd left somewhere safe, but couldn't remember where.

"I left it here, Molly," he said in agitation, burrowing through a mountain of parchment on the dresser. Percy was standing by the table, robes neatly pressed. He had a slice of hot buttered toast in his hand, and was using it almost like a weapon as he gesticulated at the twins.

"Honestly, you can't expect to run a business dressed like that. You have no idea!"

"Shut up, Perce," Fred retorted darkly. "What would you know about having a laugh anyway?"

"That's hardly the point," Percy said, bristling with anger.

"Boys! Boys!" Mr Weasley said vaguely. "Ah! There it is! Goodbye then, Molly. I shouldn't be late." He kissed her cheek briefly and then disappeared from sight with a little 'pop'.

"I'd better go too," Percy said haughtily. "I've a busy day at the Ministry today, doing an _important_ job, not like some I could mention."

"Enjoy testing the Belgian owl feather quills," George said, grinning at Fred. They vanished into thin air before Percy had a chance to reply, and with a snort, Percy followed immediately afterwards.

The whole house seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Harry and Ron sank into chairs at the scrubbed deal table in the centre of the small kitchen and began to help themselves to tea and toast. Mrs Weasley was cooking, and a heavenly smell of bacon and sausages pervaded the entire room.

"What are you three up to today?" Mrs Weasley asked, when her daughter wandered into the room and put the flowers in a vase in the middle of the table. She waved her wand at the sausages and they obligingly rotated themselves to cook on the other side.

"Dunno," Ron replied, through a mouthful of hot buttered toast.

"I thought a picnic by the river might be nice," Ginny said, smiling softly at Harry, her dark brown eyes melting into his own and filling him with warmth. She reached across her brother to pinch some of his toast.

"I get the message," Ron grinned, slapping her hand away from his breakfast. "You want to borrow Harry for a few hours, for a romantic picnic down by the river. I don't know, Gin. I really don't think we should let you go unchaperoned."

"Ron!" she exclaimed incredulously. "You're not being serious are you?"

"Deadly serious," Ron replied, watching her horrified expression for a moment and then bursting out into fits of laughter.

"Just you wait," Ginny's eyes twinkled mischievously, and she leapt at her brother and tickled him mercilessly.

"Stop it!" he gasped breathlessly, writhing off his chair onto the floor. "Mum! Tell her!"

"Ron, get off the floor! You're making the place look untidy!" Mrs Weasley said briskly, filling plates with sausages, bacon and eggs and putting them on the table. "Ginny dear, I think that's Pigwidgeon outside. Could you let him in please?"

With a final baleful look at her red-faced brother Ginny opened the window, and the tiny owl fluttered in, bouncing around the kitchen madly in his excitement.

"Keep still, you stupid feathery git," Ron exclaimed in exasperation, now on his feet trying to unfasten the parchment from his owl's leg. "Honestly, you'd have thought he'd have learnt how to behave by now, wouldn't you?"

"_You _haven't," chuckled Ginny, sliding onto the seat beside Harry, and helping herself to breakfast. Harry couldn't keep his eyes off her. He had been away from her for six long weeks, and it felt so good to be beside her again. He couldn't believe that she was actually there. He reached for her hand just to check that she wasn't a figment of his imagination, and was thrilled to see her smile with sheer pleasure at him, as she squeezed his fingers gently.

"It's from Hermione," Ron said, unravelling the parchment and beginning to read the note. "She's arriving on Saturday afternoon." His eyes scanned further down the page, and Harry could see a small smile playing across his mouth, before he folded the parchment away into his pocket. "It's going to be a terrible wrench, but I suppose I can just about deal with not coming on this picnic with you! I really should write back to Hermione." Ron chuckled. "How about some Quidditch in the orchard when you get back, Harry?"

"Sounds perfect," Harry grinned.

The sun was high in the sky, casting short black shadows on the ground as they left The Burrow. Harry was carrying the willow basket of food, not so much out of any sense of chivalry, but rather to leave Ginny free to wrestle with her wide-brimmed hat, which her mother had insisted that she wore due to the heat of the day and the Weasley tendency to freckle and burn. They strolled lazily through the garden and over the fence into the meadow.

"Oh this is ridiculous," Ginny grumbled as her hat flew off in the breeze again. "Don't tell Mum I'm doing this," she added removing the offending article altogether, grinning at Harry, and swinging it loosely from her hand. Her hair glinted in a myriad of shades of red in the sunshine, and the sheer beauty of it entranced him once more, tempting him to touch it. Hand in hand they wove their way through the rustling, whispering grasses towards the old gnarled oak standing proudly on the knoll claiming dominion over the fields, which sloped gently down to the water. They paused on the ridge beside it, staring at the scene before them. The windows of Ottery St Catchpole glinted in the distance, nestled cosily at the foot of the steep hill Harry remembered climbing for the Quidditch World Cup a couple of years before. The river wound its way lazily across the verdant landscape, hiding from sight behind trees along the banks and reappearing a little way further on as if playing a game with the observer. It glittered and shone in the sunlight, flashes of gold rebounding enticingly off the ripples.

"Race you down?" she said impishly grinning at him, and set off quickly before he'd had a chance to respond, hair and dress fluttering in the breeze behind her. Harry followed, hindered by the picnic basket, but fast enough to level with her toward the bottom of the hill. She slowed and stopped beside a couple of ancient trees leaning out across the river, gasping for breath, and he abandoned the basket on the ground, to pull her into his arms.

"I've missed you," he said breathlessly, his blood beating erratically through his veins. His hand slid at last into the thickness of her hair, and she looked up, suddenly and directly, at him with her dark eyes, making his breath even unsteadier. A moment later and they were entwined in an embrace, his lips on hers, burning with a new desire, which had caught him entirely unaware until he was enveloped in the velvety depths of it. Ginny's body moulded against his, as she responded with equal passion to his every touch.

At length, they pulled apart, Ginny's eyes wider and darker than ever, searching his soul.

"Wow!" she gasped sounding slightly dazed. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Me neither," Harry admitted, feeling rather intoxicated by the experience. "That was…" He had no words to describe what it was exactly, so he simply smiled at her, and she giggled.

"It was, wasn't it?" she said, hugging him tightly. "I've missed you too. It's been awful this summer without you."

"Ah, but there's no getting rid of me now," he teased, spreading the picnic blanket beneath the tree right next to the river. "You're stuck with me until next July."

"I don't know how I'm going to cope," she sighed tragically, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She settled herself down on the rug beside him, tossed her hat aside and grinned. "I'll just have to learn some repelling charms or maybe even a good magical barrier one to keep you away."

"You dare," he spluttered, leaning over to tickle her. She squirmed beneath his fingers, making Harry's pulse race. He stopped abruptly, uncertain of himself and his feelings, and stared out quickly over the water.

"What's up?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing," he said, vaguely, and reached over to the basket. "Here you go," he grinned, throwing her book of Muggle poems across. His own Quidditch book was there too, so he settled down on the blanket with her, for what promised to be a wonderful afternoon.


	2. Ginny's Muggle Poetry

_This is very different to the style of 'Carpe Diem' but it's something I wanted to try out. A massive thanks to those who have held my hand and reassured me about this chapter. I really appreciate it J_

_The real sequel is called 'Alpha and Omega' and should be with you soon._

_In the meantime, I strongly suggest you check out Firebolt909's hilarious new story, all about HOW Ginny goes about stealing Harry's socks._

_/index.fic?actionstory-read&storyid340569_

_The poetry in this chapter is John Clare's "First Love" and the whole text can be found at: /poetry/firstlove.htm._

Harry and Ginny belong entirely to J.K.Rowling, but it's always nice to borrow them for the afternoon.

Chapter 2: Ginny's Muggle Poetry"I ne'er was struck before that hour

_With love so sudden and so sweet."_

It feels so perfect to be here like this, with him: to be able to stretch out, feeling the warmth of the sun filtering softly through the leaves and leaving dancing patterns of brightness on my arms. I love it here, right down beside the river; I always have. This is my tree, my world, and Harry… well, I suppose Harry is mine too. Looking over at him now, I can't stop myself from smiling, even though he doesn't know I'm watching him. There's something about him that magnetises me, that draws me to him; I just can't explain it, but I know I'd never want to be without him. He's sprawled there, only a few feet from me with that wonderful furrow of concentration across his brow as he reads. I want to slide across and kiss it away, hoping those emerald green eyes will flicker up to mine, making my insides quiver in the way that only he can. I still can't believe that he loves me.

"_And stole my heart away complete._

_My face turned pale as deadly pale,_

_My legs refused to walk away,"_

It's funny, even a year ago, if anyone had asked me about Harry, I'd have said that this was never going to happen. I mean, why would it? What on earth would he ever see in his best friend's little sister, who just so happened to have a massive and very embarrassing crush on him? Even thinking about it makes me cringe. Why, oh why, did I do those things? I must have been completely demented. I suppose it's sort of comical now, the way I blushed and stammered and generally behaved like a startled sheep every time I went near him, but it was excruciating at the time. Harry said that it didn't bother him much and he laughs about it, but I have a sneaking suspicion that's mainly because of the way I tormented him when he was trying to ask me to the ball last Christmas. The confused expression on his face during that week was worth any amount of Galleons; beetroot purple every time he saw me, and I'll never forget that time he was so busy staring at me that he walked smack into the portrait of the Fat Lady. It was even better than the time he spread porridge on his toast. The look on her face! And his! Oh, it was absolutely hilarious. I'm not sure she's ever going to forgive him for that one. That cut-glass accent of hers sounded completely outraged.

"I may be only a picture, but I have feelings!"

I wonder if I could embarrass him now? Or make him laugh? I love it when he finds something funny; the way his eyes crinkle and disappear to almost nothing, as he loses control and abandons himself to gales of irrepressible laughter. He's kicked his shoes off. Now there's an idea. If I edge very, very slowly across the rug, he might not notice, and I might just be able to reach… Yes I think I can.

"_And then my blood rushed to my face…_

_And blood burnt round my heart."_

Well, that certainly got a dramatic reaction; I had no idea his feet were so ticklish but I'm sure I can put that knowledge to some good use in the future. I loved the real squawk of surprise he uttered, when he realised what I was up to, and his Quidditch book flew through the air faster than a Snitch. I have to admit, I prefer it now that he's less worried about me, and gives as good as he gets. I'm every bit as ticklish as he is. I know from the outset he's always going to win, mainly because he's so much stronger than I am, but part of the fun, in this particular game, is playing to lose. Being pinned to the ground by Harry Potter, and tickled relentlessly is not exactly a hardship, especially not when it dissolves so smoothly into one of those kisses…

…Those kisses. I've never felt anything like that when he's kissed me before. Today, it was as if he'd put his entire soul and every ounce of passion he possessed into it, still so gentle, but making me burn, molten lava building up inside me. The sensation of being held against him like that makes the blood pound through my veins with such a dizzying, exhilarating effect that I want more. No… I don't... Not just yet… I'm not sure. So many emotions, all cannoning uncontrollably around inside me, and all I want to do is hold him tightly my arms and never let him go, because one of these days, when I do let go, Voldemort will be waiting for him, and I can't bear the thought of that. I'd rather die than let anything happen to him. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, I _will_ do it. Anything to keep him safe.

"_Is love's bed always snow?"_

He looks so contented now, the breeze blowing through his hair, ruffling it the way I love to. I adore the personality of his hair, the way it refuses to be calmed and tamed, but stubbornly does its own thing, just like me. When he turns the page, he shifts his head to the left and I can just make out the outline of his scar - that scar - _our_ scar. I can see it snaking away across my wrist, joining us together in the strongest of magical bonds for all eternity. That bond saved my life. It's ironic really, because I did that charm to save him. Closing my eyes, I can remember it all so clearly: that Cruciatus Curse, twisting and tearing and burning; the agony of it erupting through every inch of me. I've never felt anything like that before, and never want to again. Harry did it though. He was incredible, standing so firmly and facing Voldemort, swearing to stay with me forever.

Harry dying is something that terrifies me. Voldemort is coming for him, we both know it, but we don't know when. Peace and happiness, like this, could be shattered at any second when the Dark Lord clicks his fingers and decides it's time. I sometimes wonder how Harry copes with having this sword of Damocles hanging over his head; it's something none of the books about him have ever bothered thinking about. It makes me furious when people treat him just as a name, '_The famous Harry Potter._' He's more than that. Oh, so much more.

"_She seemed to hear my silent voice,_

_Not love's appeal to know."_

He's feeling restless now; something's started to bother him. For once, I've got no idea of what it could be, but I can see the energy building inside him, the tenseness as he moves his shoulder backwards, released only as a stone skims swiftly and speedily across the river. That's Harry brooding about something, I know it. I've seen it before. Another stone, and another thought sinks with it, deep down to the bed of the river.

"A knut for your thoughts," Gran always used to say, but I suspect it's not as easy for Harry. He knows I'm here, and when he wants to talk, he will. It's always the waiting that's most difficult, to watch him struggle with something and be unable to do anything to help. Until then, I'll keep him laughing, keep him safe, keep loving him with all my heart. Distracting him is easy: a swift shout and an apple thrown in his direction is enough to make him turn and grin. It's never going to be easy for us, not like it is for Ron and Hermione, but it's worth it. It's Harry.

"_My heart has left its dwelling-place_

_And can return no more."_

Living for the moment is all that matters. Enjoying the sunshine sprinkling light through the canopy of leaves above and the snatches of laughter we share to stave away the fear. It's just perfect, listening to the gurgle as the river rushes by and engulfed by the heady scent of summer meadows. Best of all, is feeling his arm around me, holding me so tightly and so securely to him. I can hear his heart beating steadily against my ear, sense the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. If only moments like this could last forever.

But they don't.


	3. Harry's Quidditch Book

_Quotations in this chapter are taken directly from "Quidditch through the Ages" by Kennilworthy Whisp. Other things belong to JKR, apart from Harry's thoughts, which are my fault._ Harry's Quidditch Book

"Though there is no limit imposed on the height to which a player may rise during the game, he or she must not stray over the boundary lines of the pitch. Should a player fly over the boundary, his or her team must surrender the Quaffle to the opposing team."

It's hard to believe that I'm actually here after awful the summer I've just had. I actually need to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. No more Dursleys for another year. A whole year. Imagine it… Dudley can scream all he wants now about not having the latest Playstation game, and Aunt Petunia is, no doubt, fussing all over him and making sure he gets whatever it is he's after now. It'll all be forgotten in a day or two, and he'll want something different. No more Uncle Vernon, turning purple and raging about my 'unnaturalness' whatever I do, whatever I say. Nothing's ever good enough for them, but I suppose, deep down, I gave up on them a long time ago, just like they did with me. There's no more pretending not to exist in my room either. It's wonderful out here, feeling the sun for a change. After spending six weeks trapped inside Privet Drive, this is virtually paradise. Here I'm free. I don't have to keep up the appearance of being something I'm not. I can be myself…especially with Ginny… Especially with her.

She said this was her favourite spot at home, and I can see why. It's peaceful here; no noise really, apart from the river gurgling away, splashing over those boulders down by our feet. There's no tension, no fear. Feeling the sunshine, beating down on my shoulders, warming every inch of me, makes me feel so alive. Somehow it makes me think that everything's going to be all right. It's a good feeling. Maybe it's all to do with being back with the Weasleys? They're the closest thing to a real family I'm ever going to get, I suppose. They don't care about the stupid stuff, and it's so…so…oh, I don't know…they just want me as me. And that makes all the difference in the world.

"The Captain of a team may call for 'time out' by signalling to the referee. This is the only time players' feet are allowed to touch the ground during a match."

How could I spend five years virtually ignoring Ginny? I should have called for this sort of 'time out' a long while before I finally got round to it. I love the way she just knows what I'm thinking, the way she understands before I even try to tell her what's going on in my head. She's so funny with that. It's strange sometimes having someone there who knows me so well, but it's amazing too. I can see her over there now, curled up with her book under the shady part of the tree, that ridiculous hat just abandoned by her feet. She's so close. I could just reach out and touch her and she'd look up at me, her eyes sparkling like they always do, and I could tell her I love her.

The first thing I always see when I glance up is her hair. The wonderful wildness of that hair is so much part of her personality. It gets angry right along with her, and flies so tempestuously, spitting every shade of blistering red fire that it can. Yet it can be calmed so easily to sparkle in the sunlight like it is now. The gentle copper shining, so contented, happy and at peace with her and the world. It's nice seeing her like this; so still, enjoying that ever-present book of Muggle poems. I'll not complain. I owe that book a lot... I owe her even more.

I can see tiny freckles springing into life across her nose, one by one from the sunshine. Her mum will know for a certainty she's not been wearing the hat, but Ginny won't care. That part of her always makes me smile; that refusal to be contained, confined… she's got a certain irrepressibility that makes her do things. A bit like Fred and George, I suppose, but a whole lot cuter! She's incredible. It's that little mischievous twinkle she gets in her eyes sometimes that makes me laugh. You never know quite what she's going to be up to next.

"_The referee may award penalties against a team. The Chaser taking the penalty will fly from the central circle towards the scoring area. All players other than the Chaser and opposing Keeper must keep well back whilst the penalty is taken."_

The rat! I can't believe she just did that! Lying there, all sweetly and innocently reading one minute, and attacking my feet the next. How could she? She knows how ticklish I am. Oh, revenge is going to have to happen here. She can't get away with that. No way! It's bad enough stealing my socks, but this… this is war!

Suddenly, and I'm not sure how, I've got her pinned down on the rug, giggling madly from where I've been tickling her. Her hair is sprawled madly all over the place, and her brown eyes are full of hysterical laughter, looking up and me and shining with such warmth. It makes me feel an almost hollow ache inside, until another of those kisses fills every sense I seem to have and sets my pulse racing. Then only Ginny exists; I want nothing more.

"_The Quaffle may be taken from another player's grasp but under no circumstances must one player seize hold of any part of another player's anatomy."_

What did I do? This isn't how it was last term, and I don't want things to change. Not yet. Not for a long time. I've only just got her back and I'm slowly beginning to believe that she's going to be fine after everything that's happened to her. I didn't mean to kiss her like that. I don't even know where that came from, or what to do. I…I…want, but I don't…

Why does everything have to be so complicated? If only real life were as simple as Quidditch.

"_In the case of injury, no substitution of players will take place."_

I think, if I'm honest, I'm still terrified of what Voldemort might do to her. He came so close to killing her last time, and I couldn't bear it. I'm putting her in danger simply by loving her, and I know I should tell her to keep away from me, but I can't do it. It's not just that she'd kill me, and I know she'd have no hesitation in that if I dared, but I don't want to be without her. Not now, not ever.

I suppose we both knew how this would be, right from the very beginning, but I'm not sure that makes it a whole lot easier to deal with. Even now, the memory of that flash of green light makes me shake, brings back those haunting nightmares where I'm constantly trying to reach her, but I fail in ghastly slow motion over and over again. The sight of her crumpling to the floor like that. Her piercing scream.

Skimming stones across the water gets rid of some of the panic, makes it a bit easier to deal with. I daren't even think about what the future holds; Ginny's right, we've just got to take each day as it comes, step by step just as the stone bounces along the surface of the river, and if we're lucky we might not even sink from sight at the end of it. Ginny's been incredible about it all. I'll never forget that fierce look of determination on her face when she stood up to Voldemort, refusing to buckle beneath his curses because she loves me. That charm. She's given me so much. Every day I'm amazed she's there beside me, that she loves me. What I've done to deserve someone as wonderful her, I have no idea. I want to give her the world, but how can I with Voldemort's threats hanging over us? Whatever it takes I'm going to make sure she's protected from him in the future. I'm never going to let him get near her again.

"_Wands may be taken onto the pitch but must under no circumstances be used against opposing team members…"_

We've got to make the rest of the summer a good one, for all our sakes. We need to laugh, to get things back to some sort of normality, to stop jumping at shadows in every corner, or waiting for the axe to fall. It's time to live. It's time to have some fun. She deserves it. Ginny always makes me laugh, with the things she does, and what she says. I don't think I'm ever going to have any socks ever again. How does she steal them anyway? I always thought it was a Summoning Charm, but she's not allowed to use magic in the holidays. And now she's started on my t-shirts. I can't help but smile. Only Ginny…

I wonder if I could persuade her up onto a broom later when I'm playing Quidditch with Ron. She's always giggled about the fact that her brothers never let her fly, as she was far too much of a liability on the ground without being let loose in the air as well. I'm sure she'd rise to the challenge, and knowing her she'll be brilliant at it.

"_A game of Quidditch ends only when the Golden Snitch has been caught, or by mutual consent of the two team Captains."_

Peace is here, with her. Feeling her securely in my arms, gently breathing and relaxing beside me. I've missed her so much. This is exactly how it should be. The wayward strands of her red hair tickling my ear, and the gentle breeze drifting over us makes it perfect. The soft sounds of chaffinches chatter somewhere in the leafy canopy above us, and the warmth causes such a pleasant sleepy sensation. Why move? This is right where I want to be.

Let the future take care of itself.

A/N This is the final instalment of this little piece. 'Alpha and Omega' is on its way (I'm a good way through the first chapter). If you've not read the new chapter of Socks, Sex and Snape yet (which I wrote with Firebolt909), please do. We think it's really funny, but we've not had a lot of reviews on for it sobs


End file.
